Showtime
by GuessWhatTimeItIs
Summary: Fionna is in a band...AU genderbent story.


"It's not that cold out." Marshall let out a sigh, seeing the blonde reach for her signature hat. An old, worn, dirty hat, the bunny ears had almost fallen off completely and been hastily stitched on repeatedly. Fionna pulled it down onto her head with a playful little smirk, which did funny things to Marshall's stomach. "Cool, let's just not be late for our first gig, OK?" Anxious to get moving, the tall bass player dragged his drummer by the elbow out the door, greeting the mid-winter chill.

A gust of wind ran over Marshall's face, his natural heat turning it away. He could almost _hear_ Fionna shiver behind him, and he rolled his eyes. At least she wasn't as big a baby as Bubba. That fool had obviously never roughed it, and it left him soft and squishy. Twig thin and scraped up, Marshall was a vision of his alternative rock lifestyle. Wearing a black dress shirt and a deep red vest over black ripped jeans, he knew how to look like a rocker. Fionna, by contrast, wore that little hat along with a blue hoodie, and some skinny jeans, and had that green messenger bag thrown over her shoulder. Of course, she had also taken a liking to one of his black and white shemagh scarfs, and being a gentleman he let her keep it. Usually he'd reserve that kind of thing for whoever he was seeing at the time, but Fi was an exception. Besides, there's no way he could get it back.

Stepping down from the front step of Fionna's flat, which she shared with a firecracker of a girl named Cake, Marshall Lee took care to avoid the ice there. Tugging his companion to the side just in time, Marshall wondered how she hadn't noticed the sheet of ice at her doorstep. Not terribly thrilled about the cold, Fionna huddled into her hoodie, looking quite adorable. Not one to comment on it, Marshall continued to drag his friend by the arm towards his car. A beat old mustang he had been working on, it wasn't much to look at, but he'd put more than enough oomph under the hood to make the little thing have some giddy up and go. His signature red bass could be seen in the back, hastily packed in next to his aging amp and some other show equipment. The cold girl hurried into the passenger seat, rubbing her hands together against the cold, blowing warm air into them at regular intervals. Sliding across the hood, Marshall opened his own door and climbed inside, starting the old beast and revving the engine hard.

Chuckling, Fionna gave Marshall a silly little look, a single eyebrow arching up. "I've heard your car before, tough guy. Can we get moving?" Marshall shot a hurt look back at his passenger. "Who said I was doing it for you? My baby doesn't start very well without a little push in this cold. Damn winter." With that, he pulled out onto the street, shifting deftly and with practiced calm. Once he was on the road, his old beater starting making some fishy noises, and he ran his hand over the dashboard. "Come on baby, it's just up the street," he intoned lightly, as Fionna looked at him worriedly. Shooting her a nervous little smile, he spoke under his breath to the car, "Come on, you can do it…"

"Your heat still doesn't work, does it?" Fionna looked at the scraggly-haired twenty-something incredulously, trying to ignore the dying cat noises coming from in front of her. Of all the things in the car that did work, the heat was not one of them. And right now was the middle of winter. "Well, I could afford the parts to fix the stereo, or the heat." Letting out an exasperated sigh, Fionna looked out the window as streets rolled by. "And of course you fixed the stereo. Sometimes I wonder about your sanity, boy." Rubbing her hands together still, she visibly shivered. Swallowing a bit of pride, he reached out his hand and put it over hers. He was naturally warm, and her icy hands relaxed under his, even if her expression was strained.

"Chill, Fi. It's just another mile or so, and Mo-Chro and I can bring the stuff inside while you go in and get us set up." Mo-Chro was their affectionate nickname for the third in the band, a tall, dark, and handsome guy who wore nothing but black. Named as such because of the black unicorn painted on his van, which they dubbed "Lord Monochromicorn", Mo-Chro appreciated the humor in the name. He and Marshall went way back, having grown up across the street from one another. He was a natural on the guitar, his fingers capable of working true miracles on his guitar, which was-surprise!-matte black. When Marshall and Mo-Chro where going to start a band, Cake had just about lost it with happiness. Cake, having dated Mo-Chro since the start of high school, was always glad to see him using his talents, not to mention the fact that she could say she was his number one fan.

And of course, when Fionna heard they needed a drummer from her housemate, she jumped at the opportunity. She had bashed on her drum set for years, waiting for a chance to play in a real band, no matter how small it was. It was lucky that Mo-Chro had an old conversion van to put most of their stuff in between practices, as there was no practical way for Fionna to move her drums without a car. All in all, it had been really lucky that the three of them had found each other, everything considered. A killer bass player who could also sing, a shredding guitarist, and a beastly drummer with more energy than a puppy. It was perfect, even if it was an odd group. They could play well together though, and that's all that mattered.

Arriving at the little dive bar where they would make their debut, Marshall pulled around back and parked next to Mo-Chro's van. Fionna always laughed inside seeing it, a shiny black van with a sprawling mural of Thor on one side and his namesake on the other. Mo-Chro seemed like a hardcore punk if you met him, but there was a flair of adventure and playfulness beneath the facade. He matched wits with Cake perfectly, and Fionna couldn't help but smile seeing the two of them together.

Speaking of her roommate, Cake stood next to the dark man, clad in a fur-lined orange jacket and a furry hat and mittens, with matching fur boots. She came prepared, unlike Fionna, as she understood how cold it could be in the arctic wastes of winter up north. Helping her boyfriend with the equipment, she looked up as Marshall put the car into park. A smile danced on her face, and even though it was hidden beneath the layers of clothing, it was still visible in how she perked up seeing Fionna. Just as Marshall and Mo-Chro had been friends for life, so too were Fionna and Cake. As the shivering girl climbed out of the car, she was embraced fully by her bundled friend. As they stepped back, Cake motioned to go inside. "It's cold; let's let the boys handle the rest." With that, the two ladies were gone, into the back of the bar and into the warmth.

Marshall got out of his car, and muttered a little half-formed prayer she would start when they were done here. Grabbing his bass from the back of the car, he slung it over his shoulder, beginning the schlepping process. Mo-Chro waved, and then his hands did a little dance mid-air. _Took you long enough. You take the scenic route? _Marshall smiled, signing back before picking up his bass amp and dragging it towards the door. _You know Fionna, always slow to leave._ Knocking with his foot, one of the girls opened the door and he deposited his gear in the entryway. Appreciating the warm air for a moment, the pale man took a deep breath in. Letting it out, he ventured back into the cold.

It was short work getting everything inside. Most of it included Fi's drums, but thankfully she only had a basic set. A bass, a snare, some old rototoms, a hi-hat and a crash, so nothing too fancy, except for the throne. Having picked up the rest second-hand, Fionna had splurged and bought herself a top-quality drum throne, because you have to be comfortable to play right. Pulling the individual pieces one by one, it was a laborious process to set them up. Marshall and Mo-Chro always rolled their eyes at the girl when she was getting ready, for obvious reasons. For them, it was as easy as getting their amps and pedals sorted, and then wearing the instrument. With Fionna's drums, she was crazy as to how they were set up, distances precise and necessary.

Scoff as they might, neither of them doubted her ability. Marshall was always impressed, and even if Mo-Chro could only partially hear out of one ear, he too could _feel_ the way she played. Of course, that was how the whole band worked. Fionna kept the beat, Mo-Chro let the melody flow, and Marshall dropped a sweet groove under the rest. It worked perfectly.

Just before the show was about to start, an old friend came up to the stage, giving the trio the dorkiest thumbs-up they had ever seen. Bubba…oh Bubba. He tried so hard sometimes. He was less into music and more into baking, but the boy was ever supportive of his friends regardless. A pink t-shirt covered his substantial frame, over a pair of skinny jeans and loafers. Ever the fashion hound, he had his own style which identified him in a crowd. Soon, Cake spotted him and ambled over, and the two fans took the closest table they could, right next to the stage.

At last, it seemed they were ready, and Marshall looked at his companions. Fionna held her drumsticks high, each thumb up and her tongue stuck straight out, her signal to go. Looking at the guitarist, Marshall quickly signed. _You ready bro?_ With a little nod, Mo-Chro shot a quick little message to Marshall behind his back. A personal message, so Cake wouldn't know? _Just don't let Fi get you too distracted._ Thankful that Fionna couldn't understand that little gibe, Marshall felt his cheeks grow hot, and his friend smiled knowingly.

With that, Marshall nodded to his drummer to do the count off. Feeling the beat in the floor like Mo-Chro taught him, the two guitarists counted in their heads, perfectly in sync. Just like practice. With a smile, he sang into the microphone.

"I've got another confession, my friend…"


End file.
